27 December 2011
This is why we ride.
Tuesday, December 27, 2011
December
Etra Lake
27 December 2011I've started riding in Cranbury again. It'd been a year, which is far too long to go without teasing Larry about rest stops at Le Chateau de Ptomaine.
December 4 was my second day back on the bike after two weeks away from it. We had a good group. In Allentown we stopped to collect everyone. Larry, for some reason, was taken by a store's sign and wondered why I wasn't pulling out my camera.
"Booooo-ring!" I said.
"Oh, so it's not Spain. Well la-dee-da!"
"Fuck you, Goldsmith," I said, and took a couple of pictures.
The haze clears away this time of year. Sunlight is white in the mid-morning. If the air smells like anything at all, it's burning firewood. I stopped for a magestic tree along of one of the two roads that cut through the Assunpink Wildlife Management Area. Up ahead, Plain Jim, the sweep, waited patiently. I didn't see him there until I looked at the pictures at home. The pop-up sun visor on the camera long ago fell apart in several places; in bright light I can't see what I'm doing anymore. I was just grateful that the battery door stayed closed.
So, Larry, these are for you.
We've taken Sean into the hills a couple of times. I'd been talking up the flatlands to him. On Christmas Eve I didn't have a ride in the book, but I put out a call for a flat ride. Tom suggested New Egypt; he'd read my mind. We wound up with eleven people. I should not be in the book more often.
Part of the attraction, I think, was that I promised I'd be wearing antlers. That got Ron to say yes, anyway. Cheryl said she'd bring hers. I got to the park early enough to help her put them on. When I rolled in, Mike M was trying valiantly to attach them. I took over and managed to secure them in no time. Backwards, it turns out, but none of us noticed until well into the ride.
Sean hammered in at some record-breaking speed, accompanied by a text message from Dale that he was on his way. "We're waiting for Tom and Herb," I told him.
"You mean I'm not the last one? All right!"
Those two were running late, after having to fix a flat. Mary (rockin' the new PT Assistant degree and position) and Steve K (where has he been?) were there too.
Plain Jim was struggling with a knit cap that we eventually fitted over his helmet. Chris had one of his many not-black leggings on. "I need a picture," Steve said. "Take one for me too?" I asked him.
Two reindeer, a skinny Santa, and an over-sized elf. We're ready to ride. I need a new set of antlers. The left one keeps falling down.
This was the perfect ride. It was one of those days when everyone is going at the same speed, cracking wise, and just having a good time. It was one of those rides where I didn't even notice how far we'd gone when we stopped in New Egypt.
The plan was to grab a snack at Scott's. There's a parking lot that separates the general store from Max's, a new-ish bike shop, and the bike shop has a bike rack. As we were settling in, a woman from Max's popped her head out of the door and said, "I've got free coffee and water here!"
Most of us went inside. Quite a spread: Christmas candy, homemade eggnog bread, and a blasted Keurig single-serve coffee machine. I refuse on environmental grounds ever to drink from a K-cup. I went across to Scott's instead.
Tom and Herb wanted to get a move on. I had a bit of a tough time prying people out of the store. Sean hung a candy cane from his saddle bag.
Tom was leading. On our way south we'd had the opportunity to show Sean the biggest Jersey Berm around: the one behind the Arsenic Mall (a.k.a. Hamilton Marketplace). We went through the rural part of Hamilton, too, the section that a hearty group of souls is working to preserve.
We took Sean up Hill Road, too. On the way back, we passed by the Matrix warehouse complex and its "preserved woodlands -- do not mow" Jersey Berm. When we turned onto Gordon Road, dead-on into the wind, Sean said he missed the berm. He pondered it some more and decided that perhaps he should go into the berm business. "Berms R Us," he suggested. I said that NJ's builder's lobby would love him for it.
Sean had his helmet camera on again. He's produced a three-minute video of our trip.
Now I want a helmet camera too.
The little bells on my antlers were just about driving me nuts by the time we were nearly finished the ride. I kept them on, though, all the way home. They're in the bedroom closet now. By the sound of it, I think the kittens have found them.
Speaking of kittens, they've denuded our Christmas tree's lower half of ornaments (we went with plastic with this very possibility in mind). I've decided against re-hanging any that I've found on the floor or bobbing in the tree's water. I'm not sure I've found all that have fallen, but, so far, the little guys have made themselves an impressive collection of shiny toys:
Here's Moxie, up on his perch, contemplating ornaments in the upper reaches. See that red one just above his shoulder? He was going for that one this morning.
So, anyway, there's this thrice-weekly morning ride in the flatlands that's been called the "Old Guys Ride." Cheryl has said, "Don't let 'em fool ya. They're fast." Plain Jim concurs. Being a nine-to-five (in theory) grunt, I've never made it out to this ride. But its popularity has grown so much that there are sometimes twenty people out there.
Yesterday I finally had the chance to try it out. It was my fourth day in a row having exercised. I was deliberately un-caffeinated, because drying out a few days each week guarantees that I'll never build up too much of a tolerance. The wind was out of the northwest at sixteen miles per hour, minimum. As I drove over, I knew I'd be in for a tough time.
And a tough time I had. Fifteen of us (four Hill Slugs -- me, Cheryl, Joe, and Ron) let the tailwind push us to Jackson. I was already feeling every pedal stroke. Heading home, I'm usually one of the stronger ones because I'm built for endurance, not for speed. Not this time. I couldn't hold a pull for three minutes. I couldn't even close the gap with three riders in front of me. I was stomping in my big ring when I ought to have been spinning in the small one, all of my energy focused on keeping my back straight instead of hunching down into the headwind.
Just north of the Chateau, I said to Joe and Cheryl, slowing so I could ride beside them, "I get it now. This ride is a C+ on the way out and a B on the way back." Joe said something and took the lead, latching onto the group I'd just fallen from. We were on a tiny hill. I couldn't close the gap. The group pulled away, Joe with them.
When I'm tired, the first thing to go is my posture. Now that I'm one of those people with a bad back, I do everything I can to keep it from getting cranky. If that means slowing down, so be it. I'd rather battle the wind on my own and still be able to tie my shoes.
I watched the lead group for the rest of the ride, never too distant, but too far away to chase. It was perfect. I deserved to be dropped by Joe for at least as many miles as I'd dropped him in September. He didn't mean to drop us today; I didn't mean to drop him then. But this was beautiful and perfect anyway. Cheryl and I plodded along on our own almost all the way back to Etra Park. Two people caught us from behind then and shared the pull for the last few miles. I jumped out in front for the last of it; I wanted to burn my legs out, and I did.
Off my bike and next to Joe, I said, "You need to drop me more often. It makes me work harder." He said, "I was just barely hanging on." To Cheryl, I said, "If you talk to Andy before tomorrow, tell him I'll be in class in spirit, but my legs won't."
I did go to Andy's spin class this morning. Just my luck it was a strength class, for which he had us climbing an increasingly steep hill for forty minutes. My heart rate was ten to twenty beats below where it ought to have been.
I'm taking tomorrow off.
Etra Lake
Friday, December 23, 2011
Saturday Ride from Mercer County Park
23 December 2011
If you're interested in a 40-ish-mile ride from Mercer County Park to New Egypt and back, meet at the East Picnic Area of Mercer County Park at 10:00 a.m. on Saturday, 24 December. Antlers are welcome; pace-pushers are not.
If you're interested in a 40-ish-mile ride from Mercer County Park to New Egypt and back, meet at the East Picnic Area of Mercer County Park at 10:00 a.m. on Saturday, 24 December. Antlers are welcome; pace-pushers are not.
Thursday, December 22, 2011
Saturday Ride, Anyone?
22 December 2011
Anyone out there wanna do a ride on Saturday? Maybe the flatlands for a change? Gimme a shout if you're interested. My email address is in the book, or you can comment here. If it's a go I'll post something tomorrow.
Anyone out there wanna do a ride on Saturday? Maybe the flatlands for a change? Gimme a shout if you're interested. My email address is in the book, or you can comment here. If it's a go I'll post something tomorrow.
Sunday, December 18, 2011
Hill Slugs: The Movie, Apparently
18 December 2011
Last Saturday I got a small group together for a late-morning ride. The goal was to show Sean that there are better places than Cherry Valley and the Great Road to explore if one is going to play around the Sourland Mountain. The pressure was on to show him some challenging climbs and decent descents. That meant Poor Farm, of course, and Harbourton-Woodsville. Despite an oil-and-chip washout that made the downhill more interesting than fun, Sean had his helmet camera on. He was filming again when we sent him all the way down Rileyville.
What he did with the recording makes us look seriously bad-ass. Take a look: http://contour.com/stories/
Last Saturday I got a small group together for a late-morning ride. The goal was to show Sean that there are better places than Cherry Valley and the Great Road to explore if one is going to play around the Sourland Mountain. The pressure was on to show him some challenging climbs and decent descents. That meant Poor Farm, of course, and Harbourton-Woodsville. Despite an oil-and-chip washout that made the downhill more interesting than fun, Sean had his helmet camera on. He was filming again when we sent him all the way down Rileyville.
What he did with the recording makes us look seriously bad-ass. Take a look: http://contour.com/stories/
Thursday, December 15, 2011
Hill Slugs Ad Hoc, Saturday, 17 December 2011
15 December 2011
Looks like a repeat of last weekend. Let's start at 10:00 a.m. for 40-ish miles.
Cheryl tells me that she heard, second-hand, that the Lambertville Baker's Treat will be closing. I know we went there last time I led, but let's go again, with big pockets (*), so we can support the store (all proceeds go to charity) while it's still there.
Meet at the Hopewell YMCA/Administration Building parking lot on Main Street, across from Ingleside Road, in Pennington.
(*Eat something there, take something home. It all looks so good.)
Looks like a repeat of last weekend. Let's start at 10:00 a.m. for 40-ish miles.
Cheryl tells me that she heard, second-hand, that the Lambertville Baker's Treat will be closing. I know we went there last time I led, but let's go again, with big pockets (*), so we can support the store (all proceeds go to charity) while it's still there.
Meet at the Hopewell YMCA/Administration Building parking lot on Main Street, across from Ingleside Road, in Pennington.
(*Eat something there, take something home. It all looks so good.)
Thursday, December 1, 2011
Hill Slugs Ad Hoc: Saturday, 3 December 2011
1 December 2011
Saturday's ride will be short and sweet. Well, short for a Hill Slug, anyhow. In 35-40 miles we'll wind our way to Lambertville for some sugar and caffeine. Meet at the Hopewell Administration Building/YMCA parking lot on Main Street, across from Ingleside Road, in Pennington, at 9:00 a.m.
Extra-milers can meet me at my house at 8:30 a.m.
Saturday's ride will be short and sweet. Well, short for a Hill Slug, anyhow. In 35-40 miles we'll wind our way to Lambertville for some sugar and caffeine. Meet at the Hopewell Administration Building/YMCA parking lot on Main Street, across from Ingleside Road, in Pennington, at 9:00 a.m.
Extra-milers can meet me at my house at 8:30 a.m.
Saturday, November 26, 2011
No Es Carne!
26 November 2011
Jack has taken on the job of being master of the map and guide book, which is fine with me. I can navigate through the country roads of New Jersey, but put me in a city and I get all turned around. Unlike Barcelona and Cordoba, and despite what we've been told, finding decent food around here isn't easy.
Yesterday Jack sleuthed out a restaurant outside of the main tourist area. We took the Metro, and when we surfaced, we were face to face with the most glorious candy store window ever.
Aside from three locals at the bar, we were the only ones in the restaurant. 2:00 p.m. is early for lunch in Madrid. On the wall, next to a wine rack that stretched to the ceiling for the length of the bar, hung a row of dried meat. We weren't sure if any of it was real until the bartender sliced some of it and put it on Jack's tapas.
The plan was to go to another museum. We headed in the wrong direction by accident and wound up overlooking the western side of the city again, this time south of the palace. The camera's battery door, taped shut, was holding. As you can see, the pictures are much better. This one didn't wash out as it would have on the other camera (no matter the settings).
We eventually found the right way to the museum, the Collecciones Thyssen-Bornemisza, which I blogged about yesterday. After that, we stopped at a street cafe for something Spain is famous for: chocolate. Not the candy kind. The liquid kind. Think dark chocolate pudding before it sets, so thick that we began eating it with a spoon, so thick that, if left for just a minute, it starts to congeal. One of the guide books points out that the optimal time to drink one of these is at 8:00 a.m., after one has been out partying all night, before going home for a shower and heading off to work. Jack and I have been preferring ours around 5:00 p.m. so that we can hold off on dinner til after 9:00 (some restaurants don't even open until 8:30).
Our evening plans were to meet one of Jack's former grad students, Dianha, who is in Madrid teaching English. Spain's high unemployment rate is pushing people to learn English so that they can flee the country for jobs elsewhere.
The Spanish custom of dining at midnight and partying til dawn can't be helping much either. We'd read about this, been told about this, and even witnessed some of it in Barcelona, where even on a Sunday night the streets filled up around 9 p.m.
But what we witnessed last night takes it to a whole new level. The plan was to meet Dianha at 9:30 p.m. in the Puerto del Sol, a plaza in the center of the city from which all the main roads radiate. It had been plenty crowded there the night before, like Leicester Square in London on a Saturday night. We decided to walk from the hotel, which we figured would take us about 20 minutes. We also figured that, it being a Friday night, we'd encounter crowds. But we weren't prepared for this.
These people weren't walking. They were strolling, three abreast, arm-in-arm. If they'd been cars they'd have been cruising. And they were all headed in the same direction, towards the plaza. This was worse than Penn Station, NYC, at rush hour. Already not terribly fond of this city, I became annoyed. There are too many people on this planet, and half of them are on the Gran Via in Madrid. I found an opening in the crowd and, despite the traffic jam I might be causing (or even because I might cause one), I held my camera over my head and snapped a picture.
Dianha found us in the crowd as we waited by a statue of a bear rearing up to a tree (a symbol we've seen elsewhere in the city, and if I weren't feeling lazy I'd do some research about). We found a noisy tapas bar.
Spain has been a challenge for me when it comes to food. Not only am I vegetarian, but I also have a high-protein, low-fat diet. Since arriving here I've had little choice for protein but scrambled eggs or cheese. That's more fat than I'm used to, and my stomach has been somewhat upset by it. In Barcelona, John led us to a tapas bar that made a vegetarian fava bean stew. It was a welcome change. In this Madrid tapas bar we saw a fava bean stew on the menu. When we ordered, Jack made sure to ask, "Sin carne?" (Without meat?)
"Si," said the waiter.
So we were a little surprised when it arrived with lumps of sausage floating in it. "No carne," I told the waiter.
"No es carne," he said.
"Es carne!" I shot back.
"No es carne. Es chorizo!"
"Es carne!"
He took it away. The three of us burst out laughing. Moments later the waiter came back with the dish, having scooped out the sausages. I stuck my fork in and let the sauce drain out as much as possible before eating it. My guts being in turmoil already, I figured that I'd either not get any worse or start throwing up in five hours. I hedged my bets and ate only a few drained forks full. I didn't get sick.
Today we headed west towards another museum, the Museo Cerralbo, the former home of aristocrats at the end of the nineteenth century. The goal of these people was to show off their wealth as much as possible, and boy did they. I liked their Venetian glass chandeliers. Boiled down to one word, the descriptor for this place would be "overwrought." But that's what wealthy Europeans were shooting for back then. Spanish Donald Trumps, maybe?
At lunch in a sidewalk cafe, I had the following conversation with the waiter when I told him, "Sin carne."
"No pescado?" (No fish?)
"No."
"No pollo?"
"No."
He was walking away when I said, "Si hay ojos, es carne." Bad grammar, but what I was trying to say was, "If there are eyes, it's meat." I'm pretty sure he didn't hear me anyway. As with the rest of this city, it was pretty noisy. For lunch I had roasted vegetables and bread.
We wandered about in two city parks. The first was just a little one, backing up to the palace.
Hooray! I can shoot into the sun!
In the second park, the Casa de Mores, a manicured garden with only one entrance, my tissue-and-tape solution to keeping the battery in its door shut gave out. I lost two pictures because the door popped open before the photos went onto the memory card. The worst of the three survived.
We took the metro to one more museum, the Reina Sofia, a former hospital that now houses, modern art, Dali, Miro, and Picasso's Guernica. Once again we got in for free because it was after 2:30 on a Saturday.
Below are my last two photos from Madrid, taken from inside the museum and looking out on the rooftops as the sun was low in the sky.
I was holding the battery door closed with one hand and controlling the shutter with the other.
We stopped for one last dose of liquid chocolate before taking the Metro back to the hotel. We're going to have our dinner downstairs soon. It's just about 8:30, when the restaurant opens, so we'll be the early birds.
Then I'll try to get my suitcase closed around all the chocolate and books, and take one more glass-doored-bathroom shower. If we can use the last of the shampoo I brought from home then there will be more room for everything else.
Tomorrow I'll purge myself of caffeine, sugar, and fat. After I find one last hot chocolate at the airport...
Friday, November 25, 2011
It Must Just be a Thing
25 November 2011
We found out who the architect is: Alvaro Sans, who specializes in hotels. This whole glass-and-slab thing must be the new architectural black. Twenty years from now we'll be saying, "That's sooooo turn-of-the-century."
Meanwhile, we went to another museum today (Collecciones Thyssen-Bornemisza), which is from a private collection. There's a floor of modern art, a few rooms of Impressionists, and, yes, loads more of Jesus-and-Marys. Can I get a Flying Spaghetti Monster up in this joint?
Jack finally got his two bottles of Spanish wine to carry home. I bought a bunch of packets of high-end chocolates to use for Christmas presents.
We still think that, for the most part, Madrid's streets aren't that interesting. The best we could do was compare one or two of them to Islington, London.
I had some success with the old camera, but I don't want to pull the memory card out to upload just yet, for fear of never getting that tissue shoved back in quite the right way. I'll upload tomorrow night, as our trip comes to an end.
We found out who the architect is: Alvaro Sans, who specializes in hotels. This whole glass-and-slab thing must be the new architectural black. Twenty years from now we'll be saying, "That's sooooo turn-of-the-century."
Meanwhile, we went to another museum today (Collecciones Thyssen-Bornemisza), which is from a private collection. There's a floor of modern art, a few rooms of Impressionists, and, yes, loads more of Jesus-and-Marys. Can I get a Flying Spaghetti Monster up in this joint?
Jack finally got his two bottles of Spanish wine to carry home. I bought a bunch of packets of high-end chocolates to use for Christmas presents.
We still think that, for the most part, Madrid's streets aren't that interesting. The best we could do was compare one or two of them to Islington, London.
I had some success with the old camera, but I don't want to pull the memory card out to upload just yet, for fear of never getting that tissue shoved back in quite the right way. I'll upload tomorrow night, as our trip comes to an end.
Madrid
25 November 2011
The first thing I noticed in our hotel room was the pair of nightstands flanking the bed. Each glowed blue. A circular switch controlled the color. Yeah, it looks cool, but it's clearly useless, and far too bright in the dark.
It's all glass and wood in here, with light switches at waist level. There are switches all over, and they all seem to control everything, with the comic effect of the whole room going dark when one of us aims to turn on a light.
There's a sliding door in the closet that opens into the bathroom. I can get to my clothes from either side. That's pretty cool.
Then there's the bathroom. A glass door separates the two sinks from the rest of the plumbing. However, the glass is only opaque up to the middle of my nose, and the door doesn't lock.
Wait a minute. This all seems too familiar. I think I know who designed this building, or, at least, whose ideas have been taken.
Princeton University is putting up a new building for the neuroscientists and psychologists. The architect is one Rafael Moneo, an award-winning designer hailing from Madrid. He did the extension of the Prado, the art museum in the center of the city, as well as buildings at Harvard and Columbia. Princeton has this thing where they have to get big names to do their buildings, so, enter Moneo.
A few weeks ago I was sent to view the mock-ups. The faculty office will be done up in light-colored wood and glass, glass, glass. Each will have a round, glass-top table with wood and metal supports. The desk, three-sided, is done so that one of the wood slabs appears to be lying off-center on top of the others. "That's a design element," we are told. "It can't be changed." (The desk I'm typing from now, by the way, is a slab of glass that appears to be lying on top of a cube of wooden drawers, with glass fronts that match the doors. Just saying...) Someone else in the room asks about the waist-high light switches. We are told that it's part of the design but they'll see about moving them up. We're shown the doorways to the student offices. They're all glass and sliding. The opacity stops just below my eyes. I can stand on my toes and peer in. The doors do not lock. (In the hotel bathroom, I can stand in the tub and see clear to the outside windows. A super-hot shower steams up the glass and takes care of that problem.) In the mock-up lab, the drawers below the benches all have light wood fronts. I like how they look. We have a choice of three colors for wall cabinets, but I am told that the below-bench drawer style is "a design element and can't be changed." The gray floor, apparently, will be a choice of ugly or slightly lighter ugly, but that's it. Anyway, this hotel room is functional, so let's hope the labs are too. Meanwhile, I can't find any direct connection on the 'net to this place and Moneo. Maybe it's a Madrid thing, a Spanish thing. I'm going to ask the concierge later. This room doesn't do much to keep me from thinking about my job, but our vacation is over in two days anyway.
We went to the Palacio Real de Madrid, the Royal Palace. Here's a view from the plaza balcony. Inside we saw an exhibition of royal clocks (kinda cool, actually), an armory, and the royal pharmacy. There were rows and rows of shelves with porcelain jars, each labeled with herbs and tinctures. "Now this is organization," I said. So much for not thinking about work. In the area where medicines were made, Jack noticed the sink with glassware piled in it. He said something like, "Bad technician left glassware in the sink." I said the tech would have to get after whoever did this, and mentioned the name of the most likely perp where I work.
The streets of Madrid, while lined with imposing buildings, seem to be doing their best to look like somewhere else. The promenade that the guide books and concierge eagerly point us to is lined with chain stores one can find in London and Manhattan. Those that aren't chains are tacky souvenir shops selling the same sort of crap one can find in London or Barcelona, but with a different name stamp.
Spain seems to be fond of its licorice in a way that would make Americans proud. Each of these ropes is about two feet long.
We looked up bead shops and found a couple of places that sell all matter of craft materials. In the early evening this place was mobbed with people who couldn't possibly have been tourists. It was like trying to get served at a crowded deli. I bought some beads then took this picture on my way out, holding the camera above my head.
We went to the Prado museum, the city's collection of Grand Masters' artwork. We went in at 6:30; the museum is free from 6:00-8:00. We stayed until closing time. The highlight for me was seeing Heironymous Bosh's The Garden of Earthly Delights, a tryptich of surreality that predates Salvador Dali by 300 years. I was less enchanted by the overload of religious paintings. I can only take so many Jesus-and-Marys. I have zero tolerance for naked angels. Zero.
Today we're headed for more museums and maybe a walk in the city's park. I've ditched my camera for the older one, which I brought with me even though the battery door is broken. I've stuffed some tissue in it and taped it shut. Heavier and bigger, it takes better pictures.
The first thing I noticed in our hotel room was the pair of nightstands flanking the bed. Each glowed blue. A circular switch controlled the color. Yeah, it looks cool, but it's clearly useless, and far too bright in the dark.
It's all glass and wood in here, with light switches at waist level. There are switches all over, and they all seem to control everything, with the comic effect of the whole room going dark when one of us aims to turn on a light.
Then there's the bathroom. A glass door separates the two sinks from the rest of the plumbing. However, the glass is only opaque up to the middle of my nose, and the door doesn't lock.
Wait a minute. This all seems too familiar. I think I know who designed this building, or, at least, whose ideas have been taken.
Princeton University is putting up a new building for the neuroscientists and psychologists. The architect is one Rafael Moneo, an award-winning designer hailing from Madrid. He did the extension of the Prado, the art museum in the center of the city, as well as buildings at Harvard and Columbia. Princeton has this thing where they have to get big names to do their buildings, so, enter Moneo.
A few weeks ago I was sent to view the mock-ups. The faculty office will be done up in light-colored wood and glass, glass, glass. Each will have a round, glass-top table with wood and metal supports. The desk, three-sided, is done so that one of the wood slabs appears to be lying off-center on top of the others. "That's a design element," we are told. "It can't be changed." (The desk I'm typing from now, by the way, is a slab of glass that appears to be lying on top of a cube of wooden drawers, with glass fronts that match the doors. Just saying...) Someone else in the room asks about the waist-high light switches. We are told that it's part of the design but they'll see about moving them up. We're shown the doorways to the student offices. They're all glass and sliding. The opacity stops just below my eyes. I can stand on my toes and peer in. The doors do not lock. (In the hotel bathroom, I can stand in the tub and see clear to the outside windows. A super-hot shower steams up the glass and takes care of that problem.) In the mock-up lab, the drawers below the benches all have light wood fronts. I like how they look. We have a choice of three colors for wall cabinets, but I am told that the below-bench drawer style is "a design element and can't be changed." The gray floor, apparently, will be a choice of ugly or slightly lighter ugly, but that's it. Anyway, this hotel room is functional, so let's hope the labs are too. Meanwhile, I can't find any direct connection on the 'net to this place and Moneo. Maybe it's a Madrid thing, a Spanish thing. I'm going to ask the concierge later. This room doesn't do much to keep me from thinking about my job, but our vacation is over in two days anyway.
We went to the Palacio Real de Madrid, the Royal Palace. Here's a view from the plaza balcony. Inside we saw an exhibition of royal clocks (kinda cool, actually), an armory, and the royal pharmacy. There were rows and rows of shelves with porcelain jars, each labeled with herbs and tinctures. "Now this is organization," I said. So much for not thinking about work. In the area where medicines were made, Jack noticed the sink with glassware piled in it. He said something like, "Bad technician left glassware in the sink." I said the tech would have to get after whoever did this, and mentioned the name of the most likely perp where I work.
The streets of Madrid, while lined with imposing buildings, seem to be doing their best to look like somewhere else. The promenade that the guide books and concierge eagerly point us to is lined with chain stores one can find in London and Manhattan. Those that aren't chains are tacky souvenir shops selling the same sort of crap one can find in London or Barcelona, but with a different name stamp.
Spain seems to be fond of its licorice in a way that would make Americans proud. Each of these ropes is about two feet long.
We looked up bead shops and found a couple of places that sell all matter of craft materials. In the early evening this place was mobbed with people who couldn't possibly have been tourists. It was like trying to get served at a crowded deli. I bought some beads then took this picture on my way out, holding the camera above my head.
We went to the Prado museum, the city's collection of Grand Masters' artwork. We went in at 6:30; the museum is free from 6:00-8:00. We stayed until closing time. The highlight for me was seeing Heironymous Bosh's The Garden of Earthly Delights, a tryptich of surreality that predates Salvador Dali by 300 years. I was less enchanted by the overload of religious paintings. I can only take so many Jesus-and-Marys. I have zero tolerance for naked angels. Zero.
Today we're headed for more museums and maybe a walk in the city's park. I've ditched my camera for the older one, which I brought with me even though the battery door is broken. I've stuffed some tissue in it and taped it shut. Heavier and bigger, it takes better pictures.
Wednesday, November 23, 2011
Barcelona/Cordoba: Crazy-Ass Architecture and Other Adventures
24-25 November 2011
On our second day in Barcelona, we went into the Frederic Mares museum. Mares was a rich dude with a penchant for collecting not one of anything, but everything of anything. The ground floor of the building he lived in is room after room of early Christian statuary. A row of nearly identical Mary-and-child statues. Walls full of crucified Jesuses that still have him looking Middle-Eastern. No Aryan Jesus-and-Marys up in this joint. I'd just about had enough, being a devout atheist, when we headed upstairs. There was even more of this stuff on the next floor. But the top two levels were something else. I forgot all about the Jesus overload. We entered rooms full of bell jars encasing bouquets of flowers made entirely of shells. Framed arrangements of cigar wrappers. Pipes with creepy heads on them. Walking sticks with creepy heads on them. Eyeglass cases. What-the-hell-are-these-things. Raffle tickets. A machine that prints raffle tickets. Very, very old bicycles (last night I dreamed Ross Hart lent me one of these to ride, which I did for a while, but I gave it back because nobody'd be able to help me if I had a breakdown).
Jack and I left the place shaking our heads. Crazy-ass.
The next day we went to visit some architecture. I could spend a few paragraphs explaining Antonio Gaudi's Sagrada Familia cathedral, but Wikipedia has already done the job.
This is one crazy-ass church.
We only walked around the outside; lines were long to get in and we'd been advised by John and Rosa that the wait wouldn't be worth it.
Speaking of John and Rosa, who we went out to dinner with on our last night in Barcelona, Rosa has the coolest job of anyone either Jack or I know: she's translating the first season of Scooby-Doo into Catalan.
Jack wanted to know what she's doing about "Zoinks!" Rosa said that they'd settled on "Iay!" As in "Eeeeee-eye!"
"What about 'ruh-roh'," Jack asked.
"We're leaving that to the actor."
Anyway, Gaudi:
The words are "sanctus" over and over again:
Um, bowl of fruit?
In the subway station, there's a vending machine for cell phone apparatus:
More Barcelona street scenes:
Wherever there's shopping, there are these wire patterns spanning the street. Usually it's car-free too.
Another shot of the round whatever that I took the day before, this time at night.
Quirky graffiti:
When shops close for the day, they pull down metal grates. Many of them are decorated. Kevin, maybe you'll need a special category for these.
If you look closely at the top third of this picture, you'll see what every group-riding cyclist sees:
We took the train from Barcelona to Cordoba. The speed was posted constantly on a screen on the inside of the car. We got up to about 175 mph. Taking good pictures out the window was pretty much out of the question. Most of the landscape looks like the desert southwest in the US. As we approached Cordoba things greened up a little.
Once again we wound up in a deeply-discounted hotel. For 80 euro, we got a 390 euro room.
The unfortunately-named Conquistador Hotel was across from what we came to see: La Mezquita mosque/cathedral. Here's Wikipedia's description. It's a mosque with a cathedral plunked into the middle.
As water passes up this fountain, it spins the wheel. Twice per revolution the little bell goes, "tink." It's very peaceful.
Paintings of Jesus and saints and things hang next to Moorish architecture.
The ceiling:
The view from the bathroom, of all places:
In the cathedral, someone was tuning the pipe organ. It sounded less like an organ than a sick moose or an MRI about to get going. By the time I remembered that I could use my phone to record this "blaaaaaaaaat," the tuning stopped. Oh well.
I tried, and tried, and tried, to hold my hands still enough to get a close-up of the mouths that were the pipe openings, high above my head. I hate my camera.
Outside, in the courtyard, and throughout the Medieval section of the city, stones are laid, often sideways, in patterns.
Oop! One more door for you, Kevin, at the mosque/cathedral entrance. Here, Muslim and Christian designs meet:
This is the view of the mosque from the outside of our hotel:
And down the street:
Clay bulls for sale:
A crack in a wall. Did I mention that I hate my camera?
We walked over the bridge that crosses the Guadalquivir river. It looks tidal, but when we searched the web trying to find out, we had no luck. Cordoba is pretty far from the coast. But there was a clear tide line, there were egrets, and there was an obviously wet shirt just above the water line on a bridge support far below us. I don't have a picture because I would have had to shoot into the sun, and the camera that I hate just sucks at shooting into the sun.
Looking from the bridge back into the Medieval part of town:
If this camera could zoom without being a fuzzy blur, you'd see egrets at the water's edge.
Oh, wait. I did zoom. See those white blobs on the shore? Egrets.
Here's the hotel's second floor landing.
And the stairwell:
A view from the lobby into the courtyard:
I know, I know, pictures of a hotel? Really? Yeah, because we never stay in places like this because we can't afford it. And if you think this is posh, wait until you see the pictures of the place we're in now, in Madrid, at some minuscule percentage of what the place usually charges. I'm trying to find out who the architect is. I have my suspicions. But you'll have to wait for that. It's almost 1 a.m. here and if I don't get in bed before Jack starts snoring, I'll never get to sleep.
On our second day in Barcelona, we went into the Frederic Mares museum. Mares was a rich dude with a penchant for collecting not one of anything, but everything of anything. The ground floor of the building he lived in is room after room of early Christian statuary. A row of nearly identical Mary-and-child statues. Walls full of crucified Jesuses that still have him looking Middle-Eastern. No Aryan Jesus-and-Marys up in this joint. I'd just about had enough, being a devout atheist, when we headed upstairs. There was even more of this stuff on the next floor. But the top two levels were something else. I forgot all about the Jesus overload. We entered rooms full of bell jars encasing bouquets of flowers made entirely of shells. Framed arrangements of cigar wrappers. Pipes with creepy heads on them. Walking sticks with creepy heads on them. Eyeglass cases. What-the-hell-are-these-things. Raffle tickets. A machine that prints raffle tickets. Very, very old bicycles (last night I dreamed Ross Hart lent me one of these to ride, which I did for a while, but I gave it back because nobody'd be able to help me if I had a breakdown).
Jack and I left the place shaking our heads. Crazy-ass.
The next day we went to visit some architecture. I could spend a few paragraphs explaining Antonio Gaudi's Sagrada Familia cathedral, but Wikipedia has already done the job.
This is one crazy-ass church.
We only walked around the outside; lines were long to get in and we'd been advised by John and Rosa that the wait wouldn't be worth it.
Speaking of John and Rosa, who we went out to dinner with on our last night in Barcelona, Rosa has the coolest job of anyone either Jack or I know: she's translating the first season of Scooby-Doo into Catalan.
Jack wanted to know what she's doing about "Zoinks!" Rosa said that they'd settled on "Iay!" As in "Eeeeee-eye!"
"What about 'ruh-roh'," Jack asked.
"We're leaving that to the actor."
Anyway, Gaudi:
The words are "sanctus" over and over again:
Um, bowl of fruit?
In the subway station, there's a vending machine for cell phone apparatus:
More Barcelona street scenes:
Wherever there's shopping, there are these wire patterns spanning the street. Usually it's car-free too.
Another shot of the round whatever that I took the day before, this time at night.
When shops close for the day, they pull down metal grates. Many of them are decorated. Kevin, maybe you'll need a special category for these.
If you look closely at the top third of this picture, you'll see what every group-riding cyclist sees:
We took the train from Barcelona to Cordoba. The speed was posted constantly on a screen on the inside of the car. We got up to about 175 mph. Taking good pictures out the window was pretty much out of the question. Most of the landscape looks like the desert southwest in the US. As we approached Cordoba things greened up a little.
Once again we wound up in a deeply-discounted hotel. For 80 euro, we got a 390 euro room.
The unfortunately-named Conquistador Hotel was across from what we came to see: La Mezquita mosque/cathedral. Here's Wikipedia's description. It's a mosque with a cathedral plunked into the middle.
Paintings of Jesus and saints and things hang next to Moorish architecture.
The view from the bathroom, of all places:
I tried, and tried, and tried, to hold my hands still enough to get a close-up of the mouths that were the pipe openings, high above my head. I hate my camera.
Outside, in the courtyard, and throughout the Medieval section of the city, stones are laid, often sideways, in patterns.
Oop! One more door for you, Kevin, at the mosque/cathedral entrance. Here, Muslim and Christian designs meet:
This is the view of the mosque from the outside of our hotel:
A crack in a wall. Did I mention that I hate my camera?
We walked over the bridge that crosses the Guadalquivir river. It looks tidal, but when we searched the web trying to find out, we had no luck. Cordoba is pretty far from the coast. But there was a clear tide line, there were egrets, and there was an obviously wet shirt just above the water line on a bridge support far below us. I don't have a picture because I would have had to shoot into the sun, and the camera that I hate just sucks at shooting into the sun.
Looking from the bridge back into the Medieval part of town:
If this camera could zoom without being a fuzzy blur, you'd see egrets at the water's edge.
Oh, wait. I did zoom. See those white blobs on the shore? Egrets.
Here's the hotel's second floor landing.
A view from the lobby into the courtyard:
I know, I know, pictures of a hotel? Really? Yeah, because we never stay in places like this because we can't afford it. And if you think this is posh, wait until you see the pictures of the place we're in now, in Madrid, at some minuscule percentage of what the place usually charges. I'm trying to find out who the architect is. I have my suspicions. But you'll have to wait for that. It's almost 1 a.m. here and if I don't get in bed before Jack starts snoring, I'll never get to sleep.
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